The boy with the golden eyes FMA oneshot
by Greenbucket5
Summary: A prostitute in central gets a visit from a young, blond boy with golden eyes. He visits her several times, he tells her of himself and she listens ... yes, there is a hint of yaoi ...


So yes, this is my first ever post here on ! *woohoo!* Well, anyways, this is a FMA oneshot. The story is told from the perspective of a prostitute in central. She gets visites from a certain young boy with golden eyes. He starts talking and she listens to his story. ....

Listen up! This is yaoi in its most innocent form ... have fun guessing what pairing it is ...

-I do not own FMA or any of it's characters.-

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It started in the most peculiar way. He entered the room, a young boy with blond hair and golden eyes. But the way he talked and acted showed anything but youth and innocence. He was broken with mental and physical scars. But I wasn't allowed to ask any questions, it wasn't my job.

The night went by just as any other working night, I did what I do best and gave him whatever he was paying for. But as the sun rose, he started talking. At first I wasn't sure whether I should shut him up and tell him just to get the hell out, but his tragic and tainted voice was captivating. And thereby I listened, captured in his words, telling me his story. That sorrowful story.

He left eventually, but his voice kept echoing within my head, making me distant at work. My clients didn't notice anything, those self-centered things. But I was numb, unable of sensing their touches and caresses. All I could think of was whether that sad, young boy was ever coming back. I longed for it, forbidden as it was.

---

He returned. Carrying new scars and tragedies. But despite all that, he seemed different in some way. I hushed my thoughts, reminding me that he was not one of my problems. We did what he came for an I would not ask for anything else.

And then he started talking again. That tragic sadness still tainted his voice, but it was as if there was a small change. Hardly detectable, but it was there. I smiled and kissed him, no response. He said goodbye and left again. Leaving me stuck on the same spot.

Was that what he wanted? For me to become captured within his story, to become a part of it, without being able of doing anything? A day and another passed, but I was unable of detecting them as anything else than a glimpse of light reflecting on a coin in the well of life. I was unable of continuing my life as it was without feeling guilty. Who was I to lead a normal life, when he was supposed to face all these dangers by himself?

---

When he returned, he looked somewhat rejuvenated. Invisible waves of good feelings streamed from him. That night was completely different from the other ones. His skin, touch and sweat all felt completely different. What had happened to that boy? Was the end of his journey coming closer? Was he finally finding happiness after all those years? He didn't say much the morning after. He simply put his clothes on, smiled at me and left with a silent goodbye. I smiled, knowing he'd be back.

My life continued, the days passed, and so did the weeks. There was no sign of him. I waited, my hope still strong. I was surprised, I'd never been this attached to a person before. How come, after merely a few visits, this one boy had more impact on my life than any other person in my life, merely by telling me of himself? I was puzzled by him, that boy. That man. That soul.

---

He did come back. But he was more careful as he touched me. As if he feared I'd shift away by his touch. There was something bothering him. I couldn't tell if it was good or bad, but I kept silent. It was none of my business. He fell asleep when we finished. His face became perfectly still, I could tell how much he needed the rest. I kissed his sleeping face and then fell into deep slumber as well.

When I woke up, he was already awake and had put his red jacket on. His face was smiling halfway and he turned his face to look into my eyes. Then his lips parted, and I realized this was the last time I'd see him.

"I'm in love."

Three words. And I froze in my position. His face was peaceful and I smiled. It was right. There was just in it.

I asked. For the first time, I asked him a question. And he spoke, told me of his love of a lifetime. It was a man, older than him. But that was no matter to them. He told me how his special one was strict but emotional, how he would never allow anyone he cared for hurt themselves, but then threw himself away when their lives were in danger. His eyes glittered, filled with joy, as he told me of his love.

All I could think ...

... That lucky bastard.

Don't ask me which one of them I meant, I'm not completely sure myself.


End file.
